


The Village

by Deannie



Series: Deprivation [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama/Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-05-26
Updated: 1997-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's recovered memories of his time in Peru may change his relationship with his Guide forever.<br/>Sequel to Deprived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Village

DISCLAIMER: As always, Pet Fly and UPN own these guys, but I just love them so much I have to play with them. I'll give them back--more or less in one piece (snerk). 

RATING: PG. 

NOTE: This is a follow-up to _Deprived_, and, while it will make some sense if read on its own, it'll be better understood with _Deprived_ as its base. 

THANKS: To Free, for her insightful betareading, and for not killing me while I sent this to her in drabblily little bits (snerk)! 

## The Village

by Dean Warner  


The hunt had gone well, and his village would be safe and fed for another week. The Sentinel set off to make his rounds, military training and gut instinct combining to give him an almost unearthly aura. His Guide followed behind, always ready for anything he might come up with. 

Mak'laya had taught Ellison so much over the past year and a half. She was young and energetic, and she seemed instinctively to know when he needed her. She pushed long hair out of her way, kneeling beside her Sentinel as he crouched to examine the ground. 

"What is it, Sentinel?" 

He brought the dirt up to his nose, inhaling curiously. When he spoke, he spoke as a soldier, in English. "Company." 

When he took off, Mak'laya followed him willingly, running silently behind him through the undergrowth. When he came to an abrupt stop, she slid to rest in concert with him. 

"There," he stated briefly, pointing to a small hill some yards away. She didn't see the intruders yet, but she knew that he was right. He was the Sentinel. It was his job to see what others could not. 

"How many?" she asked quietly, speaking in the tongue of their hunt. He did not speak her language when there were intruders about, and it had taken her time to learn his battle-tongue. 

He held up one hand, all fingers splayed, and she pulled her crossbow from its sheath, preparing for the fight. 

That Sentinel and Guide could slide unnoticed through the jungle was as it should be. They were the village's vanguards, and their silence only added to their menace. 

But Matapui was not the only village with a Sentinel, and Ellison barely heard the intruding woman's stealthy approach before he pulled Mak'laya to him, dropping them both to the ground as arrows made their way toward them. 

"Go!" he barked angrily, crouching low behind a fallen tree as he pushed his Guide toward safety. She shook her head, letting fly with her crossbow before he could call her to task. 

The battle was short, and Matapui's Sentinel was the clear victor. He stood tiredly, looking at the unconscious bodies before him, and turned to his Guide. She would have to run back to the Village and get the war party, so that they could hold these intruders for payment. Death in battle was rarely a luxury to be afforded, when the payment for a prisoner could often feed the village for a week. 

"Mak'laya--" he broke off, stunned, to see his Guide lying just beyond him. Caught up in the battle, he had not noticed that his opponents had been using true arrows, instead of the darts that were common to the surrounding villages. 

Ellison dropped to the ground, looking painfully as his Guide's ashen face--and at the blood that spread over her chest. 

"Mak'laya," he called tearfully, listening for a heartbeat that continued to weaken. 

She opened her eyes carefully, looking at him with a love and trust that set him to weeping. "My Sentinel," she whispered, coughing now as blood replaced air in her lungs. "You will find another... Be good to him..." 

"No," he whispered, listening to her heart as it faltered. "No!"  
  


* * *

"NO!" 

Blair nearly broke a leg running through the dark loft. He stumbled up the stairs to Jim's bedroom, just in time to see the detective sit bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring off of him as he jolted from his dream. 

"Jim?" Blair moved forward carefully as his friend startled in response to his words. "Jim? You okay, buddy?" 

When the big man didn't answer, Blair reached over, turning on the light, and watching as the horror on his friend's face turned to pain. 

"Turn off the light!" he cried loudly. 

Blair did so, moving to sit on the edge of the king size bed. "Jim?" he called again, reaching out to touch his friend's hand. 

Jim jerked back as if burned, and Blair ran the nervous hand through sleep-tousled hair instead. "Hey, Big Guy... Relax... It's just a dream..." 

"I'm okay," Jim whispered finally, reaching up to wipe sweat and tears from his face. "I'm okay... Jesus..." 

Blair sat and watched the shadow of his partner for a long moment before trying to reach out to him again. When he did, Jim took hold of his arm, grabbing on for dear life. 

"My eyes keep going weird," Jim told him, slightly panicked. 

"Jim," Blair said calmly. "Remember? This happened the last time, too? Your senses are going to be a little whacked for a while... Just relax. Let it pass..." 

Jim nodded quickly, reaching over with his free hand to flip the light back on. He squinted painfully for a moment, but did as his Guide told him, and relaxed to let his eyes adjust. He looked up into Blair's worried face, and smiled. 

"I'm okay, Chief," he whispered, taking in his partner's rumpled t-shirt and boxers. "Sorry I woke you." 

Blair grinned. "Who said you woke me? I've still got another syllabus to get approved, and Professor Hillary is only going to give me so much extension time." He stopped, looking at the blank stare on Jim's face. "Jim? You okay?" 

Hillary... Hill-- Jim snapped back quickly, squeezing the hand he still held. "Sorry, Chief... It's just some... memory or something." 

Blair leaned forward, interested. "You know, I've been wondering if those recall techniques they were using on you really did help." 

Jim shook his head. "I told you I don't remember anything about those two weeks." 

"Maybe not... But they were trying to get at older memories, Jim." The younger man shrugged lightly. "Maybe it worked, and you're just now finding it out." 

Jim ran a hand over his buzzcut, sighing deeply. "Maybe, Chief. But right now, I'm way too tired to deal with it." 

Blair just nodded. He wanted to understand--but he wanted his friend back to normal even more. "Okay... Just try to get some sleep, okay? You've still got a week of recoup time coming to you." 

Jim shook the cobwebs from his head. "Yeah. Thanks, Chief." 

Blair watched him curiously as the younger man headed back down to his own room. "No problem, man." 

Jim lay back, trying to breathe deeply, trying to use the relaxation techniques that Sandburg had taught him. Nothing worked. He could hear every heartbeat of his partner downstairs--hell, he could hear the drunk in the alley three floors below! His hearing finally quit, and he closed his hyperactive eyes, and tried desperately to drop off. 

Three hours later, Blair walked quietly out of his room. He listened intently for a moment, trying to gauge whether Jim was asleep, or still trying to get there. Asleep, he decided finally, stepping onto the bottom stair of Jim's room carefully. As he got to the top, he heard Jim roll over, and froze. 

Damn. He remembered the night after he and Jim had tried that stupid sensory deprivation test, months ago. Jim had woken up five times, each time with his eyesight and hearing driving him crazy. It had taken two days off to set him straight after that, and Blair swore to himself that he would never try something like that again. Jim's fight with that had been worse than anything the Sentinel had been going through when he and Blair first met up. 

Jim still hadn't said anything in the darkness, so Blair walked quietly into the room, watching the dim form of his partner sleeping. The Sentinel was thrashing slightly, and Blair wondered what he was dreaming of...  
  


* * *

"Breathe, Sentinel," Mak'laya teased lightly. "You cannot hear if you do not breathe." 

Ellison shot her a dirty look, then smiled to take away the sting. 

"Now, Sentinel," she asked, her voice dropping into a gentle cadence that Ellison had come to think of as her "Guide voice". "Listen to the birds... How many do you hear?" 

"Different calls, or different animals?" he asked cheekily. 

She reached up, swatting him on the shoulder. "Stop. How many birds do you hear?" 

"I don't know... Forty?" 

"Don't ask me, Sentinel," she replied with a smile. "I can only hear five." 

"Forty." 

"All right..." She looked around carefully, until she spotted a small parrot in a tree some yards away. "How many parrots do you hear?" 

He cocked his head. "Six." 

"How many from the north?" 

"...Three." 

"What are they doing?" 

He opened his eyes in surprise. "What?" 

Mak'laya stared at him in irritation. "What are they doing? It isn't difficult, Sentinel." 

He smiled smugly. "Then you tell me." 

Mak'laya put her hands on her hips, looking for all the world like a mother who wanted to hit her recalcitrant son. "If you do not wish to learn, I will find something better to do with my time." 

He caught her arm as she turned away, and the jolt of electricity that resulted shocked them both. "There *are* better things to do," he invited, his smile small, but hot. 

"No," she replied coolly. "That is not how it happens." 

"How *what* happens?" 

She just stared at him--*into* him--until he turned back to the exercise. 

"Now, Sentinel," his Guide whispered. "How many birds do you hear?"  
  


* * *

A pigeon on the patio of the loft below theirs startled Jim from his dream, and he tried to snatch back shreds of it. He was... somewhere... listening to birds-- 

With an angry sigh, he pushed himself out of bed, and headed downstairs to the bathroom. 

The lamp in Sandburg's bedroom was still on, but Jim could hear the light, rhythmic sound of Blair's sleeping. He stepped in for a moment, pulling a blanket over the papers that covered the younger man's chest, and turning the light out quietly. He smiled as his Guide turned over with a mutter. He was just like-- 

"Jim?" The voice sounded miles away, and he tried to turn his head to locate it. "Jim? Jim, come on, Buddy! Snap out of it! Jim!" 

He snapped back with a jolt, staring around himself in confusion. He was slumped against the wall just outside of Blair's room! 

"What happened?" His voice sounded faint, even to himself. 

"I just woke up and you were there, man," Blair said, still crouching over him in worry. "You were zoned out--And I mean *really* zoned, man. Just like at the hospital." He looked his partner over again, before pulling the taller man to his feet. "You okay?" 

Jim nodded dully, but Blair still had to help him to the couch. The anthropologist perched himself on the coffee table, looking into Jim's slowly clearing eyes. 

"What's the last thing you remember, Jim?" 

Ellison shook his head, closing his eyes as he tried to remember. "A... A bird woke me up... I came downstairs... I-I went into your room to turn off the light..." He petered out helplessly. 

"Your hearing. Your sight. They okay?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Jim replied, Blair's intensity making him nervous. "Yeah, they're fine, I'm just..." 

Blair leaned forward. "Just what?" 

"I don't know, Chief... I'm--It's like my senses are all... dull. Not like they're gone..." He shook his head again. "Just dull." He grimaced. "Wish they'd been this dull when I was trying to sleep last night." 

Blair watched him a minute more before nodding. "Look, I think the best thing for you is just to stay here and relax for the next week, okay?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, we have no idea how long they had you in the tank. It's bound to do something to you." 

"You think it'll go away in a week?" Jim asked hopefully. 

"If not, you'll just have to get Simon to give you more time off." It was said with a smile, and Blair jumped off the table, heading to the kitchen to start some coffee. Jim realized suddenly that, judging by the sun streaming in the patio doors, it must be after eight o'clock, though he remembered it being nearer four when he headed downstairs. 

"Thanks, Chief... That's comforting."  
  


* * *

Blair hurried home from his department meeting. Luckily, they'd only have two more before they finally broke for the summer. It was raining and chilly, but he was feeling far too good to let it bother him. He'd posted his last set of grades yesterday, and the syllabus was finally finished and approved. He could kick back now--and maybe get Jim to go through some memory techniques with him. 

The Sentinel had been having a rough time in the last few days--nightmares that woke him from a sound sleep... Dreams he couldn't remember... And then there were the zone outs. Blair snorted worriedly. He'd have to come up with another word for them. They weren't like any zone out Jim had ever had before--expect when they had run that test. He wished again for his research notes, and the wish brought up his guilt again. 

Why couldn't he have been more careful about publishing his thesis? Why publish it at all? Rainier didn't require it--they just required that you write one. He didn't *have* to send it off. It wasn't like he had any problem getting published with his other research. One more feather in his cap wouldn't have made any real difference to his academic career. 

And this feather had nearly gotten his partner killed. 

His partner. He smiled at the phrase. He had gone in to the station on his way to the office today, and renewed his observer status. Simon had pulled some strings, he knew--really, how many people needed three years to compile information for a research project on closed subcultures?--but it felt good to know that, when Jim went back to work next week, he'd be going with him. 

He was whistling as he approached the loft, and he barely noticed that the rain was sloshing in the patio doors... 

Until he heard the voice of his partner. 

It was a language Blair only dimly recognized, but he placed it immediately. Quechua. From Peru. Jim was getting more agitated now, and Blair headed out to the patio carefully. 

Jim stood in the heavy rain, clad only in a t-shirt and jeans, with a look that Blair had dubbed his "soldier glare", a look Blair had seen only when they had gone to Peru to find Simon. The younger man shivered as Jim spoke again. 

"Mak'laya--" It sounded like a name, and Jim's look of intense concentration told Blair that he was hunting. Blair stepped in front of him, putting a soft hand on his arm. 

"Jim?" 

While the big man before him jumped slightly, he didn't come out of it. Instead, he pulled his arm from Blair's grasp, and moved the small man behind him, shielding his Guide from whatever the Sentinel saw before him. 

Another stream of words--again with "Mak'laya" embedded--and Jim was moving toward the doors again. Blair had to stop this now, if only to make sure that Jim didn't jump off the balcony by mistake. 

"Jim?" He shook his partner's shoulder, and called louder. "Jim! Come on, Buddy... Jim?" 

It took a moment, but Blair could see reality sinking back into his Sentinel's eyes. The big man shook himself, looking around dazedly. "What...?" 

Blair shrugged uneasily. "You tell me, man," he said, trying to sound nonchalant before shivering. "But tell me inside, okay? It's freezing out here." 

A cup of coffee and a dry towel later, Jim was sitting on the couch, gazing with puzzlement into the growing fire. 

"Where were you?" 

The voice was soft and gentle, and for a moment, Jim saw a women's face attached. But the memory was fleeting, and he turned his head to focus on his partner. 

"I... I don't know," he replied simply. 

"Look, Jim... This is getting serious." Blair ran a hand through his drying hair. "I think we need to try to see if we can get you to remember these dreams you've been having. We could try--" 

"We *have* tried, Chief," Jim answered. He knew he sounded testy, but, given his actions of late, he wasn't sure he *wanted* to remember what he'd been dreaming about. Things were becoming a jumble these days, and he was afraid that if he remembered anything more, the jumble would just get worse. "Nothing's worked so far." 

"I know Jim, but..." Blair took a deep breath before continuing, and Jim just knew he was going to hate whatever idea his friend came up with. "I have this friend at the University. She's a psychiatrist... And she does some experiments in hypnotherapy--" 

Jim shook his head. "No way, Chief. I am not going in for that kind of voodoo." 

"Jim," Blair began patiently. "It's not voodoo. Come on, Man. They even use it as a defense in court cases now." 

"Lawyers use it," Jim stated wryly. "And that's supposed to make me trust it?" He stood and waved off Blair's worries. "Look, Chief. I'll be fine. Just give me a few more days to get over this." 

Blair muttered his next words, but he meant for Jim to hear them. "And keep the patio doors locked."  
  


* * *

Three days later, Blair was ready to reluctantly admit that Jim was right. The nightmares had abated--or at least weren't waking him up in a cold sweat anymore--and he hadn't had even one more of those "episodes" that Blair had witnessed on coming home from his meeting. The anthropologist had stayed in the loft, going out only briefly to pick up groceries, and Jim had seemed content to stay where Blair could keep an eye on him. 

The detective was trying to convince his partner that everything was fine. And he seemed to be doing a pretty good job, actually. But everything was far from fine. 

He kept hearing things--not sounds that were too far away for normal people to hear, but sounds that came from within him... And from the jungle. 

They were memories. He knew that. But he also knew that he didn't want to discuss them with his Guide. He didn't want them to have surfaced at all. The woman's face that he kept seeing had a light to it, a light that reminded him too much of his partner. Her voice was his... 

Jim shook his head again, angrily. Whoever that woman had been, she was gone now, right? Why did his mind have to keep bringing her up? Why did it have to keep reminding him--vaguely, in phantom pains--of what she'd meant to him? 

"Hey Jim?" 

Blair's voice drifted up from the main room, bringing a welcome respite from his memories. Jim stood at his balcony, a bird's eye view taking in his partner, whose eyes were shining, just like the woman's had. 

"I've got that meeting to go to, okay?" The anthropologist sounded worried, and Jim tried to give him a reassuring smile. "I'll be back in an hour or so." 

"'Or so,' I bet," Jim teased. Faculty meetings. They always took so much longer than Sandburg wanted to think they would. 

"You want me to pick up something for dinner on the way home?" 

Jim shrugged easily. "Whatever." 

"Okay, man. I'll be back." 

Jim watched him close the door before descending to the main room. Alcohol was finally back on his list of consumables, and he headed for the fridge, trying not to think about his memories. 

But they wouldn't leave him alone. The woman's face kept coming to him, and the pain that gripped him when he thought about her scared him. She'd been as important to him as Sandburg was now... Important in a slightly different way, though... 

A picture came unbidden to his mind... The woman--"Mak'laya", his mind told him suddenly--standing by a waterfall, her black hair rustled gently by a jungle wind... 

The beer bottle fell suddenly from senseless fingers, but the Sentinel heard only the sounds of his jungle...  
  


* * *

"So, *Professor* Sandburg," Jill teased. "How are things going?" 

Blair smiled brightly and the cute young blonde. "They're going great, now that I'm finally out of that meeting." He looked at his watch and groaned. "Damn! I bet Jim got sick of waiting and ordered pizza for dinner." 

"Jim?" she asked, soundly just slightly jealous. 

"My roommate," he explained quickly. Wouldn't do for her to get the wrong idea. "He's been sick, and I told him I'd pick up dinner on the way home. But it's probably too late." 

She shined a hundred-watt smile on him. "Well, if you need a dinner date...?" 

"No," he replied, softening the refusal with a heavy-duty grin of his own. "I better get home and check on him." 

"Quite the mother hen, aren't we?" 

The smile brightened further. "Hey, it's a job, right?"  
  


* * *

"What is it, Sentinel?" 

He brought the dirt up to his nose, inhaling curiously. "Company." 

"There," he stated briefly, pointing to a small hill some yards away. He knew his Guide didn't see the intruders yet, but she nodded. 

"How many?" she asked quietly. 

He held up five fingers, sensing the movement as she primed her crossbow...  
  


* * *

"Professor" Sandburg stopped by his office briefly. He might as well call the loft, and make sure that Jim had actually found his own dinner. If he came home empty-handed, his logic wasn't going to be much of an excuse. 

He almost dropped the phone when the machine picked up. It was set to six rings. Why wouldn't Jim pick it up? He'd probably known that Blair would be late... He wouldn't have gone anywhere, would he? 

Blair gathered his things quickly, and almost ran for his car.  
  


* * *

"Go!" he barked angrily, crouching low behind a fallen tree as he pushed his Guide toward safety. She shook her head, letting fly with her crossbow before he could call her to task. 

The battle was short, and Matapui's Sentinel was the clear victor. He stood tiredly, looking at the unconscious bodies surrounding him, before turning to his Guide. 

"Mak'laya--" he broke off, stunned, to see his Guide lying just beyond him. 

He dropped to the ground, looking painfully as his Guide's ashen face--and at the blood that spread over her chest. 

"Mak'laya," he called tearfully, listening for a heartbeat that continued to weaken. 

She opened her eyes carefully, looking at him with a love and trust that set him to weeping. "My Sentinel," she whispered, coughing now as blood replaced air in her lungs. "You will find another... Be good to him..." 

"No," he whispered, listening to her heart as it faltered. "No!"  
  


* * *

Blair made it to their building in record time, his heart thudding angrily as he took off up the stairs. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong--Jim would never have left without calling, knowing how worried Blair was about him...  
  


* * *

He gathered her into his arms, begging quietly for her to awaken, just as he had his fallen lieutenant a year before. And just like Perkins, there was nothing he could do, no way he could save her. He felt a sudden weight in his hand, and suddenly, all he could see was his hand as he brought the gun up to his temple, all he could hear was the cocking of the pistol's hammer... 

The darkness was overwhelming now. Nothing left to see, nothing left to hear... Only an endless void, where he could find his Guide again... 

The chain was on, and Blair panicked immediately. Why put the chain on, Jim? You knew I wouldn't be gone more than a couple of hours. Blair took a deep breath, promising Jim that he'd repay him for the door, and brought a leg up to kick it in, calling Jim's name as he did so... 

Somewhere, far off, he could hear his Guide calling him. The voice was comforting, soothing. It's okay, Mak'laya, he thought softly. I'm coming... 

Blair ran to the top of the stairs--and froze. Jim sat on the edge of his bed, tears making hot tracks down his face. The gun in his hand and the blank stare on his face drove his Guide to action, as he watched in horror while the Sentinel's finger tightened on the trigger-- 

The sound of a gunshot startled him awake, and Jim looked around himself in shock, taking in his bedroom, and the sunlight, and the sight of his partner lying on the ground, drops of blood decorating his shirt.  
  


* * *

Jim pushed his own throbbing headache out of the way, falling immediately to the ground beside his roommate. "Blair?" he called out tensely, rolling him over gently while looking for holes. "Sandburg? Answer me!" 

Those bright blue eyes sprang open, immediately tinged with panic. A shaking, pale hand reached up to touch Jim's forehead. "God, Jim!" he cried, bouncing to his feet. "What the hell were you doing?!" 

Jim just sat there on the floor, thoroughly confused as he watched his intact partner twitch. "Are you all right?" he asked lamely. 

"Am *I* all right!?" Blair knelt before him, running a finger along Jim's forehead, and coming away with blood. "You're the one who almost killed himself!" 

Again, Jim just sat there, staring. Almost killed himself? That was stupid. He'd never do something like that! 

Adrenaline had to make way for concern, as Blair sat watching his partner, blood still running from a groove in his forehead. It was a small groove--nothing serious... 

If it's nothing serious, Blair asked himself, then why the fuck am I still shaking? 

"Jim?" he asked quietly, waiting for his partner's confused eyes to meet his. "What happened?" 

He could see immediately that Jim had no answer for him. The detective simply gazed dully out of vague blue eyes. Blair sighed painfully, rising to his feet and trying to bring his partner up with him. 

"Come on, Jim," he whispered gently, moving the man to sit back on the edge of the bed while grabbing the gun from the floor and holding on to it with cold fingers. "Just sit here, okay? I'll get something to clean this up." 

Jim hadn't moved in the time it took Blair to run down to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit. The Sentinel's eyes were still glassy, but he was beginning to regain something approaching a healthy colour. Blair fussed silently with the wound on his forehead, reassuring himself that it was barely more than a glancing burn. Head wounds bled a lot, he told himself. That's all. There was a lot of blood because it was a simple-- superficial-- 

He started at a hand on his arm. "Chief?" 

"Sorry, man," he said, letting out a high little laugh before he reached for the industrial-size band-aid he'd brought up. "Guess you're not the only one who can zone-out, huh?" He pulled the package open, reaching out to place it over the still-weeping crease on Jim's forehead. His hands were shaking, but he chose to ignore it. 

"It doesn't look too bad, man," he prattled quickly, taking too much time to smooth the bandage down. "You know how it is when you cut your head. It bleeds so much more than you'd think it should, and--" 

A cold hand reached up, capturing his. "Sandburg, please stop." 

The voice was so small and concerned and confused that Blair's eyes closed in response. "I'm fine, man," he whispered, taking a moment before opening his eyes again and looking into Jim's. They were clear now, but no less baffled. 

"You want to... tell me what happened here?" Jim asked finally. 

That was it! Blair stood and started pacing, all the fear and shock and pain of the last few minutes catching up to him and turning to a white hot anger. 

"Why the hell don't *you* tell *me* what happened? Huh, Jim? I come home--the chain is on the door--and you've got--" he faltered, his voice breaking. "You've got a gun to..." 

Jim watched him pace, shocked. God, what the hell had just happened? He could remember Blair leaving for the University--for a meeting. A staff meeting, just like a full-fledged professor... 

What the hell had happened then? He didn't remember chaining the door, didn't remember even coming back upstairs... 

And he sure as *hell* didn't remember taking out his gun! 

He looked up to watch Blair peter off into silence, the young man's body coming to rest, only to start shaking painfully. 

"Blair?" 

Jim wanted to reach out to him, wanted to say something to stop the shaking. But he was as confused as his loftmate, and he had no idea what to do or say to make--whatever this problem was--go away. 

"Damnit, Jim," Sandburg finally whispered. "Would you please just talk to me? Just tell me what the hell is going on in that hypersensitive brain of yours." 

Jim rose, putting heavy, shaking hands on his partner's shoulders, noticing that it did nothing to stop the man's shudders. "I don't know, Chief," he said quietly. "I honestly don't have a clue what the hell is going on..." He sighed. "All I know is that you left today to go to that meeting, and then... I heard a gunshot. And I came to with you lying on the floor with blood on your shirt." He gazed at a swelling and redness on the young man's jaw that he hadn't seen before, a dot of blood on his lip that the Sentinel hadn't noticed. "Did I hurt you?" 

Blair smiled wryly for a second. "I'm fine, man," he said, sounding almost like himself for the moment, as he rubbed at his sore jaw. The normalcy didn't last. "You, uh... You just weren't real thrilled with--" He closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath. "With me taking that gun away from you." 

The kid was shaking like a leaf, and Jim knew of only one way to make him stop. He folded him in his arms, squeezing lightly, reassuringly. 

He had only meant it to be a quick hug--something to put the younger man at ease--so he was more than a bit surprised when Blair wrapped his arms around him fiercely, his face buried in Jim's shirt to hide a sudden sob. 

"Hey... Come on, Chief," Jim whispered gently. "I'm okay." 

That drew a laugh. "Who said I was doing this for you, man? I'm still shaking." 

Jim's rumbling chuckle did much to calm his partner down, and Blair pulled away quickly. He looked up at Jim's forehead, critically noticing that a deep bruise was starting to bleed out around the edges of the band-aid. 

"Lie down," he commanded brusquely. "I'm going to get some ice for that thing." He headed down the stairs, muttering good-naturedly. "That gets much worse, and Simon's gonna think we had a fight over the rent again." 

Jim lay back carefully, his head throbbing more with the dilemma he found himself in than with the bullet crease in his forehead. God! What if he had killed Sandburg with that bullet? He hadn't even known he was doing it! If he had come to, only to find that his first panic was justified... 

God, what was going on with him lately? The nightmares, the zone-outs, the dreams... That image of a native girl that kept floating around in his head... His mind couldn't take much more of this. It was worse than the time Sandburg had tried this sensory deprivation trick on him... At least then, all he'd had to worry about was his senses going crazy... 

With Blair around, he thought, his mind already drifting, that never seemed to be as much of a problem... 

Jim was down for the count by the time Blair got back upstairs. He sighed, turning his partner's body so that Jim lay flat on his back. He laid the ice pack over the bandaid and its companion bruise, and sat quietly on the edge of the bed for a moment, willing his shudders to stay away. 

After a few minutes, he lay back, exhausted, across the foot of the bed. Just to catch his breath, he told himself. It wouldn't do to fall asleep here. If Jim had another nightmare, then he was sure to kick his partner right off the foot of the bed, and Blair would end up with something more than a simple bruise on his jaw. 

Damn. He should get some ice for *that* as well, he thought sleepily. Just as soon as he rested for a moment. He had to get away from Jim's feet though, 'cause he couldn't wake up from a foot in the face. He moved over to the side, curling into a ball just off to the side of Jim's sleeping form. His body moved slowly up the bed, on autopilot, looking for a pillow, and he fell deeply asleep, curled into himself by his partner's side.  
  


* * *

He was staring, but he couldn't say that he cared a whole lot. He stared at her a lot, and she had never seemed to mind. 

Mak'laya stood naked below *their* waterfall. The waterfall where he had first learned what he was. Where she had first *taught him* what he was. She twisted now, rinsing hair that had been soaked with a mixture of plant oils and flowers, and he knew that when she slept beside him tonight, those smells would mix with her unique essence to make it impossible for him to sleep. 

She did it deliberately, he mused, watching her tolerantly as she twisted again to face him, unabashedly naked. She had no problem with her state of dress or undress when they were out in the jungle alone. While in the village, she was always fully clothed, sneaking away by herself to bathe and wash what few clothes she owned. 

She was wanted by the men of the village--but more as one to be cherished for a night, rather than bought and paid for. He had always seen her as untouchable. But she was the one he most wanted to touch. 

Mak'laya gave her hair a final rinse, her eyes never leaving his face as she exited the pool. She had said that they were to go into the wilderness--"To replenish your power," she had claimed. As far as Ellison could see, the only thing she was replenishing was his lust for her. 

True to his thoughts, she strode up to him boldly, her nut-brown skin clear and stunning, and planted a small, devoted kiss on his lips. The electricity that shot through him suddenly took his breath away, and she smiled, whispering quietly. "*This* is how it happens, Sentinel." 

It was all a dream, he decided later, sleeping with her curled softly in his arms. A fevered little dream that his sex-starved mind had created for him. Mak'laya, the untouchable, the woman who could not be kept by any man, had whispered a secret to him, at the height of their love-making. "I am yours, Sentinel," she had said, the words burning easily through the heat and desire of his thrusts. 

"I am yours." 

He ran a shaking hand through her perfect hair, watching her sleep, marveling again at her scent. His. No, it had to be a dream. 

But once again, Mak'laya turned to him gently, pointing out the errors in his thoughts before he ever had a chance to voice them. "It was the perfect spot." 

"What?" he asked gently, accepting her kiss--surprisingly chaste, given her former fire. 

She burrowed deeply into his chest, speaking in a sleepy whisper. "This is where my father took his Sentinel." 

He lifted her face in his hand, smiling despite himself when her dark eyes met his. "Your father was a Guide?" 

"Of course," she replied, as if he really should have known better. "I am the last in my line, but we have always been fine Guides." She grinned up at him playfully. "Haven't we?" 

Ellison kissed her tenderly, before tucking her head under his chin again. "I can't speak for your predecessors," he joked lightly. "But *you* are definitely a fine Guide." 

She wriggled against him, setting off another wave of desire in her Sentinel. "I am glad I meet with your approval, my Sentinel."  
  


* * *

Blair woke in the darkness, feeling a warm body at his back. Damn! He'd fallen asleep on Jim's bed. Rubbing at tired eyes, he slid off the bed carefully, trying not to wake his sleeping friend. He didn't want to leave Jim--afraid that whatever had happened this afternoon would bring more nightmares the Sentinel's way--so he padded carefully downstairs and grabbed his pillow and a blanket, returning to the upstairs room to curl himself comfortably on the floor, off to the side, and safe from wandering feet should Jim feel the need to answer the call of nature. 

He'd talk to him in the morning about seeing Francine. She was a good psychiatrist. Even if her hypnoregression techniques didn't work on Jim, maybe she'd be able to help him through the rough spots. God knew, Blair had been doing a horrible job of it lately. He was so out of his depth here! A minor in psych, he snorted scornfully. Fat lot of good it had done him. He had barely saved his best friend from committing suicide! 

The thought brought him another case of the shudders, and he curled in on himself tightly, trying to dispel the chill. 

No. Argument or no, Jim was going to go to see Fran. If Blair had to get Simon to order it, Jim was going. He wondered idly if Jim had been lying to him all this time. Had the nightmares still been plaguing him, his military training and discipline alone stopping him from crying out? And these megazone-outs? Had he had more of them? Blair tried to remember whether Jim had spent more time than usual in his room, maybe hiding his "episodes" from his worried partner. 

*That* thought brought a wave of anger, and Blair sat up, hugging his knees to his chest as he rocked with the wave. Damnit. He and Jim were going to have one *hell* of a discussion in the morning! 

But that was in the morning, he mused, lying back into his makeshift bed. And he'd definitely need his beauty rest if he was going to have the energy to bust through the walls that Jim was sure to throw up against him. 

Or throw *him* up against, the Guide thought with a wry smile...  
  


* * *

"Mak'laya?" 

She stirred slightly, eyes opening to darkness. "Yes, Sentinel?" 

"You said your father took his Sentinel here... Is this normal for... for a Sentinel and his Guide?" 

She nodded, soft, herbal hair rubbing against his bare chest. "Or *her* Guide, yes." 

Ellison smiled in the night, as he heard her drifting off to sleep again. "I guess it was a good thing I found a female Guide, then." 

She shrugged, the feeling of it running from his head to his toes. "It would have made no difference, Sentinel," she assured him sleepily, too far into slumber to feel him stiffen in surprise. "We bond in ways that others cannot dream of." 

As he heard her finally succumb to sleep, Jim Ellison's mind wandered. The bond. Somewhere inside him, the Sentinel part of his awareness acknowledged the bond in all its facets. But he was still a soldier--an American soldier, raised by another soldier, who had taught him that being a man meant not only never having to say you're sorry, but never having to say you cared, either. 

He had always been supremely capable of shutting people out. Even here in the jungle, where he would have thought that his injuries and trauma would have softened the walls he'd spent so many years building, he was able to keep the others at arm's length. It was actually easier here, because of his status in the village. As Mak'laya was the Guide, and therefore untouchable, so he was the Sentinel, and therefore detached. 

And, up until now, he had liked it that way. But Mak'laya's words made him think. Was he truly, irrevocably, different? If he should ever leave this jungle, would he be forever changed by his time here--by his bond? 

No, he thought surely. That would never happen. He could never leave his Guide. She was the other part of him, in a way that he had always thought impossible. No person "completes" another. If you aren't complete to start with, why would another person bother with you? 

But Mak'laya...? He remembered the first day he had seen her. She had entered the chief's hut silently, tending to his wounded leg as he tried to explain the situation to her village's leader. That accomplished, the chief had told him to go with her. She would tend his wounds, and then they would speak again. His infection had gotten in the way, and he had spent a week or more in a darkness he had never known before, only to wake to a sunlight he no longer understood. 

That was when he had realized that he did indeed have a part of him that was missing. And that was when Mak'laya had begun to fill it. 

His mind drifted, touching on many thoughts. He wondered who had won the last World Series, the last Stanley Cup... Had his home town changed, or was it going to prove to him that the Pacific Northwest was indeed unchanging and unchangable? He wondered briefly how his little brother was doing... Did he know that the bully he'd had to endure all those years was finally gone? He wondered what kind of party Steven had had to commemorate his supposed passing. 

He smiled meanly, thinking how angry his little brother would be when he finally came strolling back to Cascade... 

The thought stopped him. Why did he care? He wasn't going back. He was going to stay here, with *his* Guide, in *his* village. He disengaged gently from his embrace of Mak'laya, his thoughts pushing him to move away from her for now. He climbed the hill behind their nest, reaching the head of their waterfall, and perching himself on the edge, as his Sentinel eyes illuminated the world around him... 

She found him not much later, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder as he sighed. 

"You see the future, Sentinel." 

Her words had been a statement, and he looked at her, at the calm vision of her eyes. "I feel... I wonder if I belong here." 

She shrugged. "You belong where you are, Sentinel. Always. If, later, you will belong somewhere else, then that is where you will be." 

Her bizarre form of prophesy made him laugh, and he kissed her gently on the forehead. "You live in a strange world, my Guide." 

Again, her shrug. "It is a world of your making, Sentinel."  
  


* * *

All right, Blair thought, slightly panicked. If Jim doesn't come out of this in the next ten minutes, I'm calling an ambulance--or Simon--or *both*! 

He'd woken to a full day, nearly three hours later than his usual, to find Jim lying on the bed, flat on his back, hip deep in the biggest megazone he'd seen from him yet. He had shaken the Sentinel for ten minutes, before deciding that that was going to do no good. He'd yelled at him--he'd all but *kicked* at him--and still nothing. 

A terrifying thought flitted through his mind, and his fingers went again to his partner's throat. Maybe that bullet had given him a concussion. He couldn't remember whether he'd ever heard of someone having a concussion without losing consciousness, but--hell, he thought, these zone-outs were worse than unconsciousness. What if he'd been wrong to let the Sentinel go to sleep? 

He was reaching for the phone when Jim sat up abruptly, looking around himself in confusion. His eyes took in Blair, and the detective relaxed. But those eyes were still haunted, and he looked on the verge of tears. It was as if he had expected someone or something to be there, and it tore his heart that they weren't. 

"Jim?" Blair said quietly, coming back to crouch before his friend. "Man, you are really starting to scare me." 

"I zoned again?" 

Blair tried to check his anger, but it seeped out through his words. "Yeah. Yeah. You zoned--To put it mildly." 

Jim slid his feet off the bed, cradling his head in his hands and wincing as his hand found the bandage on his forehead. "Jesus," he whispered. "I just wish I knew what the hell was going on." 

"There's one way to find out, Jim," Blair said gently, waiting for the inevitable resistance. 

"No way, Chief." *Good job, Jim,* Blair thought. *Right on cue.* "I'm not going to see some voodoo headshrinker." 

Blair steeled himself for the firestorm he was about to unleash on himself. He'd been thinking about it since he woke up this morning, and, like it or not, he was going to have to offer his friend an ultimatum. "Okay, fine," he stated calmly. "Then I call Simon and tell him everything that's happened over the past week." He ignored the man before him, as Jim raised his head to offer betrayed eyes. "If you're lucky, he'll just put you on psych leave. You might even get to keep your gun." He handed the weapon back, but held up an object in his hand. "But *I* am keeping the clip." 

The kid wasn't joking. Jim scanned his face, and saw only a desperate determination. The anthropologist was more worried than Jim had ever seen him before, and he couldn't really say that he blamed him. But something within him told him that this "friend" of Blair's would do no good. 

He set his jaw, looking defeatedly at the empty gun in his hand. "I can't do that, Sandburg." 

Blair ran a hand through his hair, blowing out his breath furiously. "Damnit, what is it going take with you!? Are you actually going to *have* to find your head with a bullet before you admit that this is something you can't handle on your own?" 

Jim winced at the reference. He wasn't the only one he could have killed, he thought, looking up at his partner. For a moment, a small young woman stood there, and he groaned as he closed his eyes against the vision. 

"Jim?" Blair was crouched before him immediately. "All right, that's it. I'm calling an ambulance." He rose quickly to reach for the phone. 

Jim snaked a quick hand out and grabbed him. "Sandburg, don't!" The connection of flesh to flesh triggered something in the Sentinel, and he searched Blair's eyes desperately as his mind sought to define that trigger. 

"Jim?" 

The memory came back to Ellison full-force, and he was all but driven to his knees by it. "Mak'laya..." 

The whisper sent off shivers in his companion, and Blair knelt again, capturing the Sentinel's face in his hands. "Jim?" he asked quietly. "Who *is* Mak'laya?" 

Jim was sunken into his memories now, and he missed the power of his next words on the man before him. 

"My Guide..." 

Blair recoiled as if struck. He looked up at the tear-filled face before him, and gasped. 

"Your... your Guide?" 

Jim didn't seem to hear him, too wrapped up in his resurfacing grief. "When she died, I knew I would die, too," he whispered. "'We bond in ways that others can't dream of', she said..." 

Blair regained himself, and put his hands back on his partner's face. It was a tender grasp, and Jim seemed to respond almost immediately. "Jim?" Blair asked carefully. "What happened to her?" 

Still in his own world, the Sentinel told his story. 

"We were on patrol, and we were ambushed. They used arrows, not darts..." His voice became suddenly angry--desperately so. "I told her to leave! I told her to get back, but she wouldn't listen." He smiled sadly, and his eyes took Blair in. "You're so alike. You never listen either." 

Blair thought he had his partner back. "When she died...? What did you do, Jim?" 

He was wrong, he realized suddenly, as Jim's face softened further, becoming distressingly sensual. "We bond for life, but she told me that, wherever I was, it was where I was meant to be. She knew that, one day, I would find another Guide." His hand reached up to lightly cup Blair's swollen jaw. "She knew one day I would find *you*. And she told me to be good to you." 

Blair pulled away, confused, before Jim could bend down to complete the kiss that the younger man saw coming. It's the time in the tank, Blair told himself frantically, dying a little at the hurt in his partner's eyes. It's just the time in the tank. If you can get him help, he'll be fine. 

"Blair, please." The pain in that voice caused the Guide's eyes to close, and Jim took advantage, swooping down to capture his partner's lips. 

Blair back-pedalled furiously. "Jim! What are you doing, man!?" 

Jim's eyes were a study in confusion. This was *right*! Why was Blair fighting him on this? "We mate for *life*," he growled, almost angrily. 

"Jim, man..." Blair took a deep, unsettled breath. "Jim, look... This is... This has something to do with the tank, man. This isn't *you*." 

Jim shook his head. He was completely himself now, even if his Guide didn't realize it. He knew what he was doing, and he knew what it meant. What he didn't know was why Blair was reacting to it this way! 

"How can you not understand this, Sandburg?" he asked roughly, keeping his distance from the fear in his partner's eyes. "This is how it's supposed to be." His voice took on a mocking quality that shook the younger man to his core. "Don't your notes have something to say about this?" 

"No, man," Blair answered quickly. "No, they don't." He wanted to leave. He wanted to run from that almost insane hunger in Jim's eyes. But he couldn't do that, and he knew it. Jim was his friend, his partner, *his* Sentinel. Whatever was happening here, he had to help. "Look, if Mak'laya was your--" he almost choked on the words-- "your *first* Guide, then it's natural for you to assume that..." He sighed frustratedly. 

"No, Blair," Jim said quietly, rising to approach him. "It doesn't make any difference. Male, female..." He grasped his Guide's shoulder. "It doesn't matter." 

Blair shook his head, dropping his gaze painfully. God! Part of him wanted to believe that Jim was right--the *kiss* had felt right, even as he'd run from it... But this *wasn't* right. And Jim would see that when he'd recovered from whatever was possessing him. 

Blair's voice was a tortured whisper that only a Sentinel could hear. "I'm sorry, Jim... But it matters to me." He looked up as Jim pulled away, and his voice gained strength. "And I *know* that it matters to *you*." 

Jim turned away, hiding a growing track of tears on his face. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry you'd think that... I'm sorry you can't see this for--For what it is." 

Blair winced, and he tried to reach out to his friend, only to be shrugged off. 

"Can you..." Jim took a deep shuddering breath. "Would you leave." He turned immediately as he heard Blair's breath catch. "Not permanently, Blair. You *are* my Guide." He smiled sadly. "Even if you don't understand yet what that means. But for now... I need some time to myself." The smile dropped at the resistance in Blair's eyes. "Please?" 

Sandburg didn't think he should leave. He didn't trust what was going on in his partner's mind. If he left now, Jim might... No, he told himself sternly. He had Jim's clip. He couldn't use the gun... God, he *couldn't* leave right now! 

"Jim..." 

"Blair, please." Jim was pleading now, and it was a tone Blair had never heard before. 

And it scared him more than he could have imagined. 

"I'm going to go downstairs, Jim," the younger man said firmly. He wasn't leaving the loft and it *wasn't* open for discussion. "If... If you want to--talk--" 

Jim smiled that sad smile again. "Thanks, Sandburg," he answered quietly. "But I think maybe we both just need time to think about this." 

Blair nodded and headed carefully for the stairs, looking back to see Jim looking after him. 

Time to think. Right.  
  


* * *

Jim had requested another week off, and Blair was thrilled when Simon agreed to it. The Sentinel still didn't seem himself. He still had nightmares--though Blair couldn't work up the courage to wake him from them. The anthropologist barely slept anymore, just lay in bed at night, waiting for the sharp intake of breath in the bedroom above--the one that signalled that Jim was still in the grips of his memories. 

Blair hated himself more every day. Jim needed him, and he was too afraid of that lingering hunger in his friend's eyes to help. And, truth be told, he was afraid of himself. His own dreams, always strange and evocative, now featured his friend in more detail. He didn't know the feeling welling up in him now--or at least that was what he told himself. In reality, he knew it all too well. 

But it was the feeling a man had for a woman. A feeling he had had for Sam, and Maya, and a few scattered others. It was the feeling that Jim had had for Carolyn, and Beverly... 

It was not a feeling that they should have for each other! 

He heard a quiet whimpering in the darkness. Jim was crying again--in his sleep or fully awake, Blair didn't know. And he didn't *want* to know, he told himself. It was a lie, but he could lie to everyone else, right? Why couldn't he lie to himself? 

Why couldn't he? Why couldn't he just say "No. I *don't* love Jim Ellison"? Why couldn't he tell himself that he didn't notice the pain in Jim's face when he looked at him lately? 

"Damnit!" He hadn't realized he'd said the word aloud until he heard Jim's quiet footsteps outside his door. 

"Chief?" Jim called quietly. "You okay?" 

Great! Just great! Now Jim was worried about *him*! When *he* should have been looking after the guy, soothing his nightmares, kissing it and making it better-- 

He sighed against the inevitable swell of feelings at the thought, and called out. "Yeah, man, I'm fine. What's the matter? Can't sleep?" 

"Nope," Jim replied, sounding himself. "Listen, Chief... Since we're both up... Can we talk about this for a minute?" 

No, Jim. No. We can't talk about this. I want to pretend that this never happened. I want to pretend that you never looked at me with eyes that could have melted steel with their hunger. I want to pretend that I never felt your lips on mine, or how good they felt, or what they tasted like, or-- 

"Sure," he heard himself say. "Come on in." 

Jim opened the french doors silently, standing in the doorway while his eyes adjusted to the light Blair had just flicked on. His Guide--if that was what Blair still considered himself to be--was sitting up in bed, sheets twisting around him that hinted at a restless night. The Sentinel didn't know where to start. All he knew was that he needed Blair--on whatever terms the kid was willing to have him. 

"About the last few days," he began quietly. "I'm sorry. I know this is freaking you out, but..." He smiled awkwardly. "But it's not exactly the most normal thing in the world for *me*, either... I guess Mak'laya was wrong. Maybe all of us *don't* bond that way." 

Blair closed his eyes at his partner's disappointment. "Jim... I don't know what to do here, okay?" He snorted. "This is *total* undiscovered country, you know?" 

"Yeah, I know" Jim smiled back, his face falling immediately. "Look, I... I need to know that you're going to stick around, Chief. If there's anything I can do to... Shit, I don't know--to put you more at ease with this, then--" 

"I don't know that that can happen," Blair answered truthfully. 

Jim recoiled. "Are you going to leave?" he asked, his eyes closing in prayer that Blair would say no. 

"Jim... Look, man, this just..." He sighed in anger. "This whole idea just takes some getting used to." 

"The idea that I love you?" 

Blair stood, pacing as he tried to think through his words. "No, man--yes. Yes, that too. But the idea that somehow this is all--I don't know--*predetermined*!" He turned to his friend, ignoring for a moment the thrill his body got from looking at him--a thrill he knew he'd felt and ignored long before this. "Love shouldn't just be... fated." 

Jim snorted, self-deprecating. "It's not, apparently." 

"Oh, come on, Jim," Blair pleaded. "I didn't mean it that way, and you know it. I mean that... That one day, you're my partner, my friend... And then all this shit happens and you suddenly tell me that you want 'partner' to mean just a little bit more!" He calmed himself quickly. "It's a little too pat, you know?" 

Jim shook his head. "It isn't, though, Blair," he maintained, looking up into his friend's eyes. "You and I have lived together, worked together, played together... We've *been* together for so long... I... I think I've just pushed away the lust because it didn't seem... right." 

Now Blair was getting mad. "Man," he grated. "You have never felt lust for *me* in your life!" 

"Really?" Jim's eyes were flint now, and Blair pushed away the kernel of fear in his stomach. "How would you know, Blair? You have got to be the most oblivious man I know when it comes to attraction." He stood from his place on the bed, and advanced on him. "Would you even *know* if a man was interested in you?" 

Blair met his eyes steadily. "With you? Yes, I think I'd know." 

Jim stood there for a moment, trying desperately not to lose control. He just wasn't going to get Blair to understand, because Blair was sure that he knew the truth. 

But this wasn't something new for Jim--he'd loved Blair for a long time now, though he'd never admitted it to himself. Now, with one short slip in control after the gun the other day, he'd ruined any chance he might possibly have had to build something here. 

It hurt him more than he could bear, but he'd have to salvage what he could of their relationship. If Blair couldn't love him, that was the way it was. But he couldn't lose him. If he lost *him*, Jim knew that the next time, the bullet would hit its mark. 

"Blair," he said, tabling their current discussion. "I don't... I don't know what I can do here, pal. I *need* you--as my friend and my Guide... If that's not going to work now, I need to know." 

Blair searched those eyes, and found only fear. Fear that he would turn tail and run. And why not? It was what he'd done in every other relationship, when he felt things going wrong. Why was this any different? 

Because Jim is your Sentinel, his mind told him firmly. Two weeks ago, you told yourself that a Guide's duty to his Sentinel was for life. Why is it different now? Because he says he loves you, and you can't love him back? 

The next thought floored him: Or is it because you're afraid to believe him? Because that would mean that it's *all right* for you to love him back? 

"Blair?" Jim was afraid to touch him, but he was frightened by the sudden blankness in his partner's face. No, not even blankness--terror? 

"Blair? Buddy, you all right?" He did finally touch him now, lightly, on the shoulder. The younger man didn't flinch, as he had expected him to. Instead, he just looked into Jim's eyes desperately. 

"Jim, why?" 

"Why what, Chief?" 

Blair pulled away suddenly, tears starting their slow way down his cheeks. "Why did the world suddenly decide that it was... fated... for the two of us to be together?" 

Jim shook his head. "I don't understand what you're asking, Blair." 

"It should be the easiest thing in the world for me to just leave!" Blair continued, never hearing Jim's words. "I've done it a thousand times before! I should just be able to look you in the eyes and say 'sorry, man. I just can't handle this. I gotta go.' I should just be able to lie and say I don't feel anything like that for you!" He *did* look into Jim's eyes now, and the intensity of his feelings was like a lightning bolt. "But I *can't*!" he sobbed. "God, Jim, I don't know what the hell this connection is, or what it means, or even what I *want* it to mean, but I can't just *leave*!" 

As his friend stood shaking before him, Jim finally understood. Blair had lived his life drifting. Sure, he'd stayed in Cascade long enough to receive his degrees, but he had spent much of that time drifting from research grant to research grant--Kenya, Malaysia, Brazil, Mexico... He'd never had allegiance to anyone. And now, suddenly, there was this partnership. Jim remembered vividly the moment when Blair told him he wouldn't be going to Borneo. There had been an almost... fear... in his eyes when he'd said the words. "It's about friendship," Blair had said shyly. "I just didn't get it before." 

And now, faced with this... Blair couldn't follow his first impulse. Jim didn't want to know why, he didn't want to hope that it was because he felt the same way about things as Jim himself did... His mind blocked out Blair's words: "I should just be able to lie and say I don't feel anything like that for you!" 

"Blair," he said quietly, watching his friend watch the floor. "If you want to leave, just say the word--" 

"But I *don't*!" Blair sobbed, turning to Jim and roughly grabbing his t-shirt. "God, Jim! This isn't a project! You're not my thesis! You're..." He dropped off uncertainly. It was some minutes before he finally managed to whisper. "You're my Sentinel." 

Jim stood stock still. *My* Sentinel. Mak'laya's words, from Sandburg's mouth. 

"Blair..." 

"God, Jim," Blair whispered in torture. "I *want* that--I *want* you! But..." He turned in a helpless circle, furious with his own weakness. He'd yelled at Jim, but it wasn't his fault. It was just that Blair didn't know what to feel anymore! He wasn't supposed to be the pawn of some useless version of Fate--something that said he needed to love Jim because that was what he was *supposed* to do! 

But he loved him anyway. If they were "fated" to be together, then how could he believe that his feelings were real? 

He remembered his discussion with Jim, when the Sentinel had lost his head over Laura and her pheromones: 

"How can it be chemical when what I'm feeling... Are real feelings?" 

"They are, that's the paradox. As a Sentinel, your body chemistry is going wild, but as a man, it effects your feelings... One is not exclusive to the other." 

But did that make it right? Did that make the lightning that flashed through him every time Jim smiled, or the pain of imagined loss he felt whenever Jim blew up at him... Did that make those feelings right? 

He growled angrily, oblivious to the man looking on in corner. The man he loved, his heart told him. He denied it furiously, one last time, slamming a hand blindly through a pane of glass in the door, as if to reinforce the denial. 

"Sandburg!" Jim took the hand carefully in his, startled by both the sound of breaking glass and the smell of sudden blood. He expected some reaction from his Guide, but Blair just looked at his hand stupidly. 

"Damnit, Chief," Jim muttered, unwanted levity infusing his words. "If you want to leave, can you please not wreck the place first?" 

He led his Guide across to the bathroom, rinsing the hand and wrapping it carefully. "You okay, Blair?" he asked, still unnerved by the anthropologist's blank stare. 

Sandburg looked up at him suddenly, and smiled wryly. "No, man. I'm stupid and I'm childish and my hand is killing me." And I know what I *want* to feel, he added silently to himself. I don't care anymore if it's right... It's what I *want*. 

Jim chuckled in response, draping a comforting hand across his partner's shoulders. Blair stiffened slightly, and Jim nearly jerked away, but Blair grabbed his dangling hand in his own, squeezing it lightly. 

"This just shouldn't be this hard, should it?" the anthropologist asked, suddenly breaking into a full-fledged smile. "Or this *painful*!" 

"Pain is part of life, Chief," Jim said easily, flashing a quick smile. "It's just not supposed to be self-inflicted." He didn't try to move his arm. The violent end to this confused conversation had left him suddenly feeling shaky, and his arm stayed where it was, now more for *his* comfort than Blair's. 

"Jim... You said that Mak'laya was your Guide, and that Guide and Sentinel mate for life. Does that mean--" 

"No, Blair," Jim cut in quickly. He sat in silence for a moment, his mind recalling his first Guide's dying words. "She didn't want me to give up, Chief. She knew I'd find you, eventually." He smiled fondly. "She knew a lot of things." 

Blair just looked at the sad, tender look on his friend's face, and it was the most natural thing in the world for him to reach up and take that face in his hands and kiss that sad smile away. 

Jim pulled back, momentarily frightened. "Chief...? I thought--" 

"I did too," Blair answered, reaching for his mouth again. "But I'm allowed to be wrong occasionally." 

Jim let the kiss complete itself, and smiled down at his partner. His Guide. "Do you think we can take this party out of the bathroom?" 

Blair laughed--the first real laugh that Jim had heard from him in days, and led the way out to the couch. Jim didn't push--wasn't sure he'd have *known* how to push it if he'd tried--and let Blair curl them together on the couch. 

"I don't know what's going to happen here," Blair admitted, looking into his Sentinel's trusting eyes. "I can't promise that I'll be..." 

"Anything, Blair," Jim promised. "Anything you want--any way you want to play this... Just stay." 

"I couldn't leave if I tried, Jim," Blair answered, feeling the soft press of lips to his scalp. "And I know I'd never try."  
  


* * *

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